Grandfather: well that is the last straw you sponge, you don't get shit from my will when I kick the bucket.

Grandson: Sponge? Are you calling me a sponge? Hey, old fark, who the hell do you think is paying for the $3 dope you pick up at the Walmart along with all the chinese plastic adorning this palacial double-wide.

Grandfather: last time I checked, you were working the night shift at the methadone clinic, I guess it brings in the bank. I see you were finally able to scratch up enough pennies to purchase that sweet 84 Crown Vic.

Grandson: you keep your eyes to yourself, old man, the Crown Vic is mine, you can keep that scooter that my tax money paid for.

Grandfather: Edna, where is my trusty shotgun, time to end this shit once and for all. Lord knows that the mashed potatoes in prison are better than your cooking!

Grandson: enjoy the prison loaf, grampa Cleetus, I just dialed 9-1-1, and operator heard it all!!!!!! Remember to take two bars of soap!